Child of the Prophecy
by Nutter101
Summary: AU. Fem!Harry. (My inability to summarise proficiently should hopefully present an air of mystery around this tale.) Features decent Dursleys.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE:**

Darkness had fallen over that world such a long time ago, or so it seemed. No one was safe anymore. There was pain, torture, death everywhere one turned.

The young family residing in Godric's Hollow had been hiding there for close to eighteen months. There was a prophecy regarding the child Lily was carrying and she and James had been ushered to the relative safety of the small Devon village.

It had been here where the baby had been born; a girl — Laurel Anne, named in honour of her maternal grandparents who had unfortunately died before they had the chance to meet her.

She was much loved by the few who knew her; spoiled even, particularly by James' closest friend, Sirius Black, who had been named her godfather. He had driven Lily to distraction on more than one occasion with his unwavering generosity toward his goddaughter. Oh, not that Lily particularly minded the presents he bought for Laurel — or 'Little Doe,' as Sirius had dubbed her — but he had certain quirks that could drive her crazy. He was perhaps a little boisterous, though he much preferred calling himself 'playful' regarding the time spent with little Laurel. All the same, he perhaps wasn't Lily's first choice for a babysitter if she and James ever had need of one.

Remus was considerably calmer than the aforementioned Sirius Black. Of a gentle nature, he would be the one found in a rocking chair with Laurel on his lap, lulling her to sleep; a stark contrast to Sirius who would be swinging her around and dancing with her. Unfortunately for Remus, he probably didn't get to spend as much time as he'd have liked to with the green-eyed baby, for he had an affliction; an affliction which cast him aside from respectable society. So often, he got quite ill, so any time he could spend with Laurel was precious indeed; especially given the ever-present danger looming over not just the small house, but the entirety of the wizarding world.

Peter was neither playful like Sirius, nor tender like Remus. Seeing him with the little girl was something of a strange sight. Laurel was often fidgety when in his presence — she never was with Lily, James, Sirius or Remus. If Peter held her she would frequently try to make a run for it — or rather toddle a bit and fall flat on her face. She would attempt to manoeuvre around him and if he went to hold her, all limbs went flying everywhere; she wriggled like a monkey in his grasp. Perhaps he simply wasn't one for babies, Lily pondered.

James, perhaps, was the strangest of the adults. It was true he had matured enough to somewhat grow out of the reputation he had at Hogwarts, as was evident by his relationship with a child that was not his own. Stranger still was that the child he held affection for was the daughter of the very person he held such personal distaste for since the moment they encountered one another ten years previously.

Laurel's father had never seen her and James had wondered if he even knew he had a daughter to begin with. Would the man care? He hated children having grown up alongside them; why should his own child give him cause to think differently? Perhaps, James mused, if he and his friends had been more tolerant of Severus Snape he wouldn't be quite such an embittered man. Even at such a young age, only twenty-one, the man was miserable as sin.

* * *

James sat on the living room floor, the dark-haired child in front of him, four stuffed animals surrounding them both. Reaching out for the stag, he asked the little girl in a musically-toned voice "Can you say 'Prongs?'"

Seeing the stuffed stag gently wiggling before her eyes, she reached out playful hands to take the toy from the man she knew as "Dada."

Struggling to speak, for she was but a mere fifteen months old, she managed to exclaim "Pong!" to which the bespectacled man took mock offence.

"'Pong?'" he repeated, moving to sniff his armpits. "Hey, I don't smell that bad. Lily, your daughter's being mean to me!" he finished with a laugh.

Moving from the kitchen, Lily stood at the doorway. "What's wrong?"

"Your daughter says I stink. I think she could do with taking a smelling test. If this child ever becomes an animagus, my money's on a bee — a smelling bee." With a good-natured smile, he brushed Laurel's nose with his index finger, the sensation prompting the baby to giggle.

With a smile of her own, Lily sat behind her daughter, gently pulling her onto her lap. Focusing on the child's feet, her brow furrowed. How could children honestly take pleasure in having their socks hanging off? How was it not uncomfortable?

No sooner had Lily pondered this that Laurel kicked her foot up, causing her sock to fly off and land on the arm of James' glasses.

"Oh, that's fetching," the red-haired woman smiled.

"Bet you couldn't do that again if you tried," James grinned, removing the offending footwear. "Laurel Evans scores!" he exclaimed. "Ten points to Gryffindor!" With that, he methodically placed the sock on the child's head and picked up the stuffed dog. "Can you say 'Padfoot?'"

"Pa'-foo'!" Laurel exclaimed excitedly, distracted by the cuddly toy as Lily returned her sock to her foot.

"'Pa-Foo?' So Padfoot's Chinese, is he?" the man asked, an expression of amusement on his face. "I'll admit, Laurel, he does have a fondness for chow mein, but the man's never been abroad."

"You realise she can't understand you?" his wife stated, a playful questioning look in her emerald eyes.

"Trust me, I know," he said, eyes still focused on the little girl before him. "You may have your father's genes, but you'll always be my baby," he said, somewhat distantly, as he reached over, to plant a kiss on Laurel's forehead.

* * *

Not three hours later and the small family was no more. James lay sprawled on the stairs, as the girl's father entered the house, which, from the outside looking in, had been half-blasted apart.

The young man still living couldn't say he felt a great deal of consideration for the deceased Gryffindor, for there had been precious little more than animosity and loathing between the two.

Ascending the last few stairs, he slowly made his way along the lightning-lit, otherwise-shadowed, hallway. The unshakeable feeling of dread at any sight that would have befallen him was enough to knock the man sick. The closer he got, the slower he moved; almost afraid of reaching the end and having to look to his left to witness the fate of the woman and her child.

The thought alone of seeing the young woman dead was enough to break the man's heart, but she actually was. His Master had gone back on his word; he hadn't spared her. There she lay, flat on her stomach, arms extended in a protective manner.

So fixated on the sight of Lily, Severus Snape seemed to not have heard the faint sniffling from the girl in the cot; nor even been aware of her presence.

The sound of the man's gut-wrenching sobs filled the cold night air, and that, in turn, prompted the wailing from little Laurel Evans — confused, terrified and alone.

Sitting there, rocking Lily's limp body in his arms, he finally became aware of the baby, her cries mingled with his own. Turning his head in the child's direction his dark eyes met her own emerald. Lily's eyes; the last piece of Lily left in the world. Her hair, however, was as black as ebony. No, that was James Potter. Lily's soft curls, perhaps, but she was James Potter's daughter.

With a great deal of emotional pain, Severus gently lay Lily back down and cleared the tears from his cheeks as best as he could with the sleeves of his robe. Rather shakily, he stood and turned to leave.

"Dada," came the quiet voice of the little girl, but there was no ignoring it.

His feet froze, preventing him from venturing back out into the night.

"Dada," she said again.

Turning back to face the child, careful to avoid the sight of Lily, which would surely ruin him all over again, he spoke. "I am not your Dada." His voice, filled with utter pain, was soft and low. Against his better judgement, he approached the cot to properly examine the child. She was looking up at him with hope-filled eyes, though still glossy with unshed tears for the mother who would never hold her again.

Reaching out her left hand, she, as gently as any fifteen-month-old could, touched his cheek, upon which was subconsciously resting one lone tear. He flinched at the touch, as he took hold of her hand and released it from his cheek as a way of saying 'Keep your hands to yourself.'

The thunderous roar of a motorcycle was heard in the silence of the night and, almost as if she were completely aware of the visitor to Godric's Hollow, the little girl exclaimed "Doggy!"

The dark-haired man looked to the child questioningly. "Well, that's the strangest-sounding 'doggy' I've ever heard," he said, as he watched her pick up one of the four stuffed toys from her side and cuddle it to her chest with a little giggle. Given recent circumstances she seemed happy enough now and he could so easily leave her to her own devices. Someone would come for her eventually; do with her what they wished. But how could he leave her? The moment he turned his back, she'd likely start wailing again; she'd be alone again not understanding why her mother wasn't moving and wouldn't wake up.

"Laurel!" a man shouted. Black, the child's _dog_ father. "Laurel!" He sounded crazed. He could kill the child himself, given the chance.

With a quick glance to the door, where the shadow of Black was bounding up the stairs and across the hallway, Severus instinctively, picked up the child, the chest of her pyjama top soaked with blood, and held her close to him. She may be Potter's spawn, but did the last part of Lily really deserve to die?

With the thud of the girl's godfather crashing into the wall, the Potions Master whirled around, child on one hip and his wand withdrawn.

Staggering into the nursery, the animagus trained his eyes on Lily's deceased form. With a cry of anger at recent events, he took note of his nemesis standing before him. "What are you doing here?" he asked, voice filled with rage, tears streaming down his face. "Give her to me, Snape. You've done enough." He began to advance on the teacher, who was unwilling to sacrifice the child in his arms. "I said give her to me. You're to blame for all this, aren't you?"

"And who was the Secret Keeper, Black?" the baby-adorned man challenged.

"You don't know anything!" the Gryffindor shot back, as he moved to wrench the child from the Slytherin's grasp. With the disturbance, the girl began to cry. "Oh, Little Doe," he sobbed into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

With his wand still pointed in Black's general direction, Snape showed no sign of faltering. Even as a student, Black's temper had been unpredictable; there was no telling what he might do.

"Where's all this blood come from?" he asked, unthreateningly, though his tone soon turned to one of rage. "What did you do to her?"

"I never touched her," Snape replied.

"Oh," he exclaimed, turning to lock eyes with his foe, "and I suppose she was just covered in blood when you showed up, was she?"

"Yes," was the plain, honest reply.

Calmly, Black placed the child back in her cot, kissing her forehead, before pulling his own wand out and holding it to Snape's face. "Well, you're a Death Eater, Snape." he spat. "Pray tell; what curse is responsible?"

Laurel looked up to both men in front of her, on either side of her cot, as they were on the verge of cursing each other into oblivion. Before any spell could be cast, however, the Death Eater lifted the child's pyjama top to reveal a scar curiously-shaped like a bolt of lightning smack-bang in the middle of her chest, which was still lightly bleeding. "'S' marks the spot," he said, quietly, as he covered her up once more, before turning his eyes away from the child.

"What do you mean, 'S' marks the spot?" Black questioned, as he lowered his wand.

"You never took Ancient Runes, did you?"

"And what does education have to do with all this?" the animagus asked, exasperated.

"Education can take you far, Black. Perhaps if you'd educated yourself you might have realised that by now," Snape bit back. No sooner were the words out of his mouth that Black's wand was again pointed in Snape's direction. "You saw that scar," Snape continued. "In the Runic Alphabet it is reminiscent of the letter 'S.' In the child's case, I believe it has more of a meaning than a solitary letter.

"Oh, and what might this 'S' stand for, Snape? 'Sacrifice?' I think plenty of that's been done already!" he seethed aggressively, jerking his head in the direction of the dead woman lying on the floor, as the expression on his unwanted companion's face contorted once more into one of emotional pain. "Oh, what's this now? Gonna cry, are you? Some things never change, eh, Snivellus?" he scoffed.

Almost as if the little girl knew what was going on, she threw the stuffed dog at her godfather, hitting him on the head.

"Laurel, if you're going to throw your toys at least throw them at him," he groaned, indicating the man he so loathed. "It's because of you James and Lily are dead." Another toy thrown at his head — this time the stag. Sirius ignored it. "And now Laurel's an orphan and it's all your fault."

"I know," Snape said, defeated, as he fought to hide his tears from his nemesis. He cast a glance sideways to Laurel sitting in her cot, now with the stuffed wolf in her hand.

"It's not bad enough that you tried to destroy Remus at Hogwarts; you've now destroyed a whole family. Well done, Severus Snape. Five hundred points to Slytherin, Order of Merlin First Class. Give the man a bloody medal!" Now the wolf hit him on the head.

Without the energy to argue anymore, the Hogwarts employee turned to leave.

"Oh, what's this? Running away, eh? Coward! Go on! Sling your hook!"

The last of the four toys the child always slept with, hit an angered Sirius on the back of the head and rolled across the floor to Snape's feet. Two pairs of eyes, one black and one silver, fell on the stuffed rat. Snape knew it didn't require any words — the baby's action told her godfather everything he needed to know and she never made a single sound.


	2. Chapter I: One of Our Own

**Chapter I: One of Our Own**

The feminine exclamation of shock and surprise, coupled with the smashing of several milk bottles, was enough to rouse the other residents of Little Whinging.

Before anyone could find the true source, however, Petunia Dursley had hastily lifted the baby from the doorstep and took her back into the four-bedroomed semi. It simply wouldn't do to be the subject of gossip. Why anyone should abandon a baby on a doorstep — the Dursleys' doorstep of all places — Petunia didn't know.

Carrying the whimpering child, who had herself been woken by the screaming woman, Petunia took her into the living room and lay her on the settee, sitting beside her.

"What's wrong, Pet?" her rather large husband said, concern evident in his voice, as he hovered in the doorway, squinting in dawn's early light peering through the gap in the curtains.

"Who leaves a child on a doorstep?" she asked, rhetorically, her eyes never once leaving the baby girl before her.

Moving further into the living room, he approached the sofa and looked down, to see the watery-eyed child with dark, messy curls. "Hmm…" he pondered. "Pretty little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled, as he leaned over the arm of the sofa, and carefully stretched out one of his sausage-like fingers to tickle her chin. "Coochy-coochy-coo!" he exclaimed, playfully, prompting a giggle from the new addition, as she extended her arms in excitement, hoping to be picked up.

"Lily's eyes," the woman whispered. "You're Lily's, aren't you? What's your name?" she asked distantly. "Lavender? Linnea? Leilani?"

"Is there a note?" he asked, all his attention focused on the little girl. He'd hoped for a little girl when he first married Petunia, but after two miscarriages before Dudley and Petunia's subsequent difficulty in getting pregnant following his birth, Vernon was happy enough with the chubby little boy currently sleeping upstairs. "Up you get," he smiled, as he lifted up the pink-clad bundle. "You're gorgeous, you are, aren't you?" With that, he planted a somewhat-scratchy kiss on her left cheek, encouraging a cry of discomfort. "You're right; I need to shave," he chuckled, as he soothed the child now in his arms.

"They're dead," came the faint sob from the woman on the sofa. She appeared to have found the letter she'd expected. "They've been killed. Oh, Vernon." Looking up to her husband, she trained her eyes on the girl who had absolutely no idea what was going on. It was clear, however, that she didn't appear frightened of either of them, as was evident from the child cuddling into her uncle's chest. "Her letter," she wept. "She told me and I didn't listen."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he replied, taking a seat beside his wife, as he repositioned the baby so she was sitting on his knee. "I seem to remember you were especially-irritable the day you received it and you cried that night." It was evident he was attempting to lighten the mood, in lieu of recent events, though his hope for offering worlds of comfort weren't exceptionally successful.

As Vernon gently took his wife's hand in his own, she looked over to the child. "I can't do it, Vernon. I swore I wouldn't take her in. I never dreamt it would come to this." Her eyes never left those of her niece, who had reached out to touch her free hand.

"Well, no one ever dreams it, do they, Pet?" Vernon replied.

"I didn't want it to happen," the woman told herself. While it was true, there was a distinct dislike — hatred, even — for her sister, Petunia hadn't wished her dead and would have not wanted her niece to be orphaned. It was in this moment of thought that she recalled the name her sister wrote to her shortly after the birth of her child. "Laurel Anne. That's your name, isn't it? Laurel Anne? After my parents." The child looked at her quizzically.

"That's a nice name," Vernon smiled, gently stroking the child's hair. He recalled his in-laws rather fondly, despite the short span of time he'd known them. They were both well-respected in their social circle, though the circle itself was rather small. Laurence Evans — or Larry, as he preferred to be known — was the history teacher of the local high school back in Manchester when Petunia and Lily were growing up. His wife Anna (previously Jung, born to German parents in Liverpool) was a housewife and a member of both the Neighbourhood Watch Alliance and the Women's Institute. Vernon recalled the couple as rather amiable, though there was one incident that stuck in his mind — the fact it was the first time Vernon had met them and, as such, was rather unlikely to forget such an occurrence — when the couple had an argument regarding the family in the next street. Larry had been something of a detective, Vernon had realised, and had more than enough suspicions of the Snapes; a name Vernon remembered as clear as day. Anna, as the type to simply let sleeping dogs lie, had feuded with her husband over what had become of the family, culminating in her spouting her annoyance in German and Larry retaliating in Welsh. Suffice to say, it had ended with Anna presenting her husband with the silent treatment when he happened to announce the strange disappearance of Mrs. Snape. Although Vernon could understand neither Welsh nor German, Petunia, most unfortunately, understood every word.

Both Petunia and Vernon had been acutely uncomfortable at the time and, while they may each have individually thought of it in following years, neither of them ever brought the incident up.

"If we had died," Petunia stated, bringing Vernon from his musings, "Lily would have taken Dudley in without question. She'd love him like her own." Biting her lip, she paused to gather her thoughts. "No, we must raise Laurel as such. And you always did want a daughter," she said, directing her words to her love.

"So did you," he responded, with a knowing glance. Trust Petunia to use him as an excuse to take the baby in. She wanted a little girl just as much as he did.

The peaceful silence that followed was abruptly broken by a loud wail.

"To the Anderson shelter," Vernon instructed, jokingly. Dudley had arisen and with his action came a cry rather similar to an air-raid siren (or an emergency services vehicle of sorts on a good day.)

"I'll sort Dudley," Petunia announced, in a panic, as she left the lounge in a hurry and straight up the stairs.

With Vernon left to talk to himself, he looked at the child. "And so it begins," he sighed, realisation now dawning that they had two babies to take care of. "Cereal?"

* * *

That, of course, had been almost ten years ago now. Vernon and Petunia had, indeed, raised their niece as though she were their own. She'd never gone hungry or wanted for anything. She and Dudley were as close as any pair of blood-related siblings; the two as thick as thieves.

The walls, mantelpiece and sideboard were filled with memories of the two children living in the house. Some of them together, one with Petunia, one with Vernon, one with Petunia _and_ Vernon, both with P— you get the idea.

The pair were homeschooled, an idea Petunia had after Dudley had informed his mother that some of the children at school didn't treat Laurel very well. They had called her a 'freak,' for strange things tended to happen.

There was the incident where Piers Polkiss, a rather large boy with a rat-like face, along with his group of friends were chasing her, as they so frequently did. It had so happened on this day that Laurel had ended up on the school roof in her desperate attempt to get away from the hoard of boys. The two teachers who had been on playground duty at the time hadn't believed her when she claimed she didn't know how it happened and a tearful Laurel had to face the shame of bringing home a letter to her aunt and uncle.

There was also that time when her teacher's wig had turned blue, seemingly on its own. If someone would have told Laurel she'd done it herself she'd likely have been reluctant to believe it, for she considered herself quite ordinary. That had been another letter for her relatives to peruse.

In addition, Piers' Posse, as Dudley had dubbed them, once backed Laurel into a corner, daring her to run. So scared of what they might have done, she handed over what they wanted of her; her homework, the contents of her lunchbox and the money Vernon and Petunia had given both herself and Dudley to buy sweets from the tuck shop run by the caretaker.

A very miserable, hungry Laurel returned home that day and took herself straight to bed, so unwilling to answer questions on what had happened. Oh, Dudley had offered her some of his sweets that day, but she didn't take them from him. She had also handed Dudley yet another letter from the headteacher addressed to her aunt and uncle. That was the moment in which Petunia made up her mind. It was bad if Laurel put herself to bed; worse if Dudley had to speak up on her behalf.

Being away from such negativity had more than improved Laurel's mood. She seemed so much happier being homeschooled and, soon enough, Petunia decided to do the same to Dudley. Oh, he wasn't a bad student by any means, but there was a big difference with two children and thirty-two children. She could give him the attention he required regarding his studies that he otherwise likely wouldn't get had he been at primary school.

Dudley still got to see his friends, of course; friends he had made through social activities outside of school. It was understood by Dudley that as long as he was close to Laurel he'd never fit in with his peers. That suited him fine. He and his cousin were far more like brother and sister and he wasn't willing to sacrifice his relationship with her for conditional friends. No, he had met his friends through sports like karate and boxing.

As a youngster he was rather prone to temper tantrums and, in an attempt to calm his aggression, his parents had enrolled him in the local martial arts club. It had calmed him. The boxing had followed when he was a little older and, with a trusty punching bag, he rarely acted up these days.

Laurel was more of a cerebral child. She wasn't exceptionally physical; rather mental — perhaps a bookworm, for want of a better word. She loved to learn and had certainly picked up her grandfather's love of history. Her aunt had taught her Welsh and German, along with cooking and baking. She felt rather at home in the kitchen and, given the opportunity, she'd have a treacle tart baked for the family every day if she could. Of course, Petunia would disagree on that front, regarding her portly husband and her son's gradual weight gain. Dudley may have been physically active but he also loved his food. On a Saturday night Petunia would agree with Laurel and permit her the opportunity to make treacle tart.

While Petunia remained at home with the children, Vernon went out to work nine-to-five, Monday to Friday. As the manager of Grunnings, a company that made drills, he was hardly in any real position to moan. If anything, his position was quite respectable and was certainly well-paid enough to afford a nice house, decent car and good family holidays.

Their holidays were usually spent in Wales, but the four would sometimes travel to Germany to spend time with Petunia's cousins. Vernon might frequently have felt like a lemon in both countries; so out of place through his inability to communicate, though it was, at least, a little easier to do so in Wales. He at least had three people to translate for him, regardless.

Of course, Vernon had one very definite issue with the part of Germany Petunia's cousins lived, as the last time they had gone it was Oktoberfest and Petunia had neglected to tell him (or rather she was so excited to see her cousins she hadn't seen in so long she forgot to.) He wasn't best-pleased at the sight of himself in the mirror wearing lederhosen. It didn't look quite so bad on nine-year-old Dudley, but it didn't really suit a man approaching forty.

* * *

As the Sun's early light peered through the gap in the lemon-coloured curtains, the dark-haired girl squinted, groaning quietly and pulling the duvet over here head.

"Happy birthday to me," Dudley chanted on the landing. If the blinding light from the glowing ball of plasma in the sky wasn't enough to wake the previously-sleeping child, her cousin's announcement certainly was.

Focusing in the light, she focused on the ticking clock on her bedside table. Half past seven. He was at least getting better with his excitement. In previous years she'd likely have been looking at about half-four or five o'clock. Still, she considered the extra three hours of sleep a sign of Dudley's maturity; he was more considerate of sleeping family members these days.

With a playful knock on her door, Dudley opened it slightly and peered in. "It's my birthday," he grinned.

"I'd never have guessed," she replied, with a small smile, as she pulled the covers off herself and sat up. "Happy birthday, Big D," she said, holding her arms out to give him a cuddle, at which he pounced on her in acceptance, knocking her backwards, as she banged her head on the headboard.

"Ooh, you alright, Laurel? Sorry," he said, rather sheepishly, as he leant back, desperate to not inflict anymore damage on his cousin.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied, rubbing the back of her head. "What does it feel like to be eleven?"

Pausing a moment to ponder the question. "Well, much the same as it feels like to be ten," he responded, plainly, "except with a one after it."

"Ten with a one after it?" she confirmed. "Well, I must say, you look good for your age. You don't look a day over one-hundred."

While Dudley thought about the girl's attempt at a joke, she clambered out of bed and over to her wardrobe, bending down as she lifted out three wrapped packages, in blue paper with white ribbon. "Oh, I get it," he whispered, with a subtle chuckle.

"Here you go, Cousin, though you feel more like my brother," she smiled, handing the three packages over. "They're nothing to get really excited over."

"Thanks, Laurel," he replied, taking the offered presents from her. "I'll open them downstairs."

"Will you have enough time?" the girl asked, as Dudley turned to leave. "We're leaving for the zoo soon and I think you might have quite a bit to get through."

It was no secret that Dudley was spoiled, but his parents were glad he wasn't rotten with it. They'd raised him decently-enough to be grateful rather than greedy, except when it came to food.

The two descended the stairs together, having washed and dressed, Dudley more than excited for the day ahead.

"Bacon," he said, dreamily, closing his eyes and taking in the scent of the frying bacon wafting through the house.

"That's more than just bacon, Dudley; it smells like a full English to me," Laurel smiled.

As the two entered the kitchen, Dudley approached his mother, though Laurel would scarcely have been surprised if it were the bacon alone he was attracted to.

"Oh, pumpkin!" Petunia exclaimed, leaning in to kiss her son. "Happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday, son!" Vernon said, cheerily from his spot at the table, as Petunia covered Dudley's eyes and led him from the kitchen and into the dining room, where a huge pile of presents sat. Dudley's eyes went wide.

"How many are there?" he asked, inquisitively.

"Thirty-six," the large man replied. "They were a job to hide and all."

"Don't you think that's too many?" Dudley asked.

Laurel, meanwhile, was distracted, focused on the table. "Is that Aunt Petunia's?" she whispered to her uncle, indicating a teacup on the table.

"Yes, love," he responded, reading his newspaper.

"And that's Dudley's?" she questioned, pointing to a glass.

"Yes, love," he replied once more, eyes unmoving from the sports results, as though he were used to the conversation.

"So if that's yours," Laurel finished, eyes trained on her uncle's coffee mug, "then that must be mine." She sat down before the only unconfirmed glass.

"Thirty-six isn't too much is it, Vernon?" Petunia questioned.

"Tsk. Three-nil," he frowned, seeming to not have heard his wife.

"I said thirty-six isn't too much is it, Vernon?" she repeated, glaring at her husband. Laurel stifled a giggle as her uncle's eyes remained on the football results. "Vernon!" she snapped.

With a start, he jumped, knocking his mug off the table. "Oh," he groaned. "Go and fetch us some kitchen roll, would you, Laurel?" He looked into his niece's eyes pleadingly.

He needn't have asked, however, for the girl was already on her feet and across the kitchen.

As she leant over to grab the desired manual-mopping-device, she leapt back with a start as the frying pan caught fire. Gingerly, she stepped forward to hastily turn off the hob and grabbed the nearest tea towel, drowning it in the washing-up bowl.

Wringing it out as speedily as she was able, she all but threw it over the flaming pan. The fire soon went out and, after a moment to gather herself and calm her nerves from the unplanned disaster, she slowly made her way back the table. Somewhat sheepishly, she spoke.

"Dudley—" She paused, after hearing a loud bang from her uncle hitting his head on the underside of the table. "Dudley, I don't think you'll be having bacon this morning."

Dudley's expression might have morphed into one of complete horror at the statement, but appeared more questioning.

"Oh, my best trousers," Vernon moaned, pitifully, eyes focusing on the coffee stains currently decorating them.

Before Petunia could make any sort of exclamation of irritation, the girl with the sparkling green eyes almost doubled over with laughter.

"Happy birthday, Dudley!" she said, turning to lean on the kitchen counter for support; the only thing preventing her from hitting the floor from hilarity.

This was certainly going to be an interesting day…


	3. Chapter II: Snakes and Letters

**Chapter II: Snakes and Letters**

The family had settled for cereal in the end, following the 'Full English Disaster of '91,' as Laurel herself had dubbed it. It was infinitely-more difficult to burn cornflakes.

If Dudley had minded about the lack of a hot breakfast on his birthday he didn't say anything, likely too excited about his presents and trip to the zoo.

The three Dursleys and their niece had all made their way to the car, though not without a rather paranoid Vernon repeatedly checking all the locks. They'd had a burglar the previous year and, though the intruder hadn't taken anything, having run off at the sound of the alarm, it had left the four of them somewhat shaken and the adult male of Number Four now entered 'Panic Mode' every time he left the house.

As Vernon drove them all to the zoo, the young girl relayed her dream from the night before, about a flying motorcycle and how she felt as though she were riding it herself.

The senior Dursleys became anxious at the tale, but, so engrossed in her daydream-of-her-night-dream, Laurel didn't notice. Dudley hadn't noticed either, for he was reading his new football annual his cousin had given him for his birthday. Precisely why he was doing this was a mystery, as he suffered with travel sickness on the best of days and it was often worsened if he focused on something for too long.

"Could a motorbike fly?" the girl asked her relatives. "I mean, planes manage to stay up, don't they? And Elliott flew across the moon on a pushbike with E.T." While the girl was thinking aloud, Petunia and Vernon exchanged a worried glance at a set of traffic lights. "And witches can fly, but they've got magic powers anyway. A witch can fly on a broomstick or travel in a big pink bubble if she really wants to. And fairies have wings and wands. It's a shame magic doesn't exist," Laurel smiled, sadly.

An awkward silence followed and remained unbroken until they had arrived at the zoo.

"Where would you like to go first, Duddy?" Petunia asked, glad of the conversation following her niece's uncomfortable talk of magic.

"Snakes," he announced, almost immediately. "I'd love to see the snakes, Mum."

Petunia had grown somewhat uncomfortable at this. She'd never been particularly fond of snakes; especially not since one of her cousin's children in Wales had let his pet snake run free through the house and wrapped itself around her ankle. Despite her discomfort, however, she was hardly likely to deny Dudley what he wanted and the four of them soon found their way to the Reptile House.

Dudley's eyes rested on a sleeping boa constrictor behind a large glass cage. "She's massive!" he exclaimed.

"She's magnificent," Laurel smiled.

"I reckon she could crush Dad's car," the boy added.

"I think she's gorgeous," his cousin replied, dreamily. " _Hello, beautiful_ ," she smiled, talking to the snake. " _I'm Laurel._ " She never noticed the shock register on the faces of her family.

Almost as if she had heard the human girl-child, the serpent raised its head to study her. " _Are you talking to me?_ " it replied.

It was Laurel's turn to stand in shock. " _You can understand me?_ "

" _Of course, child. You're speaking to me, aren't you?_ " she snake responded, rhetorically.

" _I rather suppose I am,_ " Laurel said. " _Do you have a name?_ "

" _My Keeper calls me Aspen._ "

" _Aspen?_ " Laurel repeated, thoughtfully. " _That's a nice name. How long have you been here, Aspen?_ "

" _Too long._ " If it were possible for the snake to roll its eyes, Laurel might have sworn she saw it happen. " _I long for freedom._ "

" _Well, I can understand that,_ " Laurel said. " _I wouldn't want to be stuck behind a glass pane all my life with strange people staring at me every day._ "

" _Look around you, girlie; I think you'll find it's happening._ "

That snapped Laurel from her action and she turned to look to her aunt, uncle and cousin. They were no longer at her side and neither was Laurel speaking to the snake through the glass. In fact, she was behind the glass herself. The three Dursleys were paler than ghosts, and several other visitors were staring open-mouthed at the girl and the snake, likely gobsmacked that she had yet to be eaten.

" _You're not like other humans, Laurel,_ " Aspen informed. " _You can do things they can only dream of. How else do you think you got in this cage?_ "

Laurel paused, slowly bringing her eyes back to the snake. " _I willed it to happen?_ "

" _Oh, yes,_ " the snake nodded. " _You put yourself in my shoes — a fair feat, considering I've not a leg to stand on. And it's not the first time something like this has happened, is it?_ " As the girl thought back to all the strange things that had happened in her life, Aspen spoke once more. " _I leave you now, girl-child. One day I will break free but you must live your destiny. This world is not yours; the Other is. Goodbye, Miss._ "

With that, Laurel felt herself crash to the floor, sprawled on her back. Looking up at the petrified faces of her relatives, tears met her eyes.

"What the bloody 'ell was that?" a stranger asked, eyes trained on the girl.

Many of those who had stopped to look were more disgusted than anything and looked at Laurel with varying degrees of disdain.

Scrambling to her feet, she made a run for it, Petunia hot on her heels, as Vernon went to sit on the nearest bench and Dudley remained standing exactly where he was, completely baffled.

A short while later, the four had gone for something to eat. The senior Dursleys tried to project an air of normalcy, but it was evident to passersby that there was precious little that was normal about the raven-haired girl with the green eyes.

A waiter sat a large sundae glass of profiteroles, ice cream, fudge, chocolate sauce and marshmallows (with, of course, a cherry on the top) in front of the teary-eyed girl, who had scarcely spoken a word since her conversation with the snake. It didn't do a great deal to improve her mood; in fact, it served only to further sadden her.

"Go on, Lolly," Vernon encouraged, using his nickname for her, "tuck in before it gets warm."

Placing her hand on Vernon's arm, a sign that it wasn't the best time for him to speak, Petunia stood, leading her niece away from the table.

"You're not a bad child, Laurel," she said, once parted from the crowd.

"I didn't mean to do it," the girl defended. "I don't know how it happened, Aunt Petunia. Honestly!"

Holding her hand up, Laurel was silenced by her aunt. "I believe you," she sighed. "There's something I must tell you, but now is neither the time nor the place. When we get back home, perhaps."

"I've ruined Dudley's birthday," she said, sadly.

"On the contrary, he seems more excited than anything, Laurel," Petunia replied, recalling her son's words to her husband about how interesting the exchange was to watch. "Come on," she sighed, leading the child back to the table. "Don't worry about it. Finish your sundae and enjoy the rest of the day."

Rather reluctantly, Laurel did.

* * *

"Open the door, would you, Lolly?" Vernon smiled, handing his niece the house keys, as he went to get the day's purchases from the boot of the car. "Help your mother, would you, Dud?"

Dudley wasted no time in helping a somewhat-stuck Petunia out of the front-passenger seat. They had bought a fair bit that day, having gone on a shopping trip after the zoo and, with so many bags, the family was almost buried alive; more so Petunia than the other three, carrier bags piled up around her feet and on her knee.

Pushing the front door open, Laurel grabbed the post off the doormat, setting it, and the keys, down by the hall telephone and going to help her relatives.

By the time all was indoors and put away, Laurel remembered the post and took it to her Uncle who had flopped on the couch.

"There's a postcard from Aunt Marge," she informed, handing it to her uncle, along with a small handful of bills. Her eyes then fell on a letter which was unlike the others. Handwritten on some sort of thick off-white paper, she read her name. "Miss L. A. Evans."

"You've got a letter?" That caught Dudley's attention soon enough, as he eagerly left his seat and read it over his cousin's shoulder. "Well, that's specific," he said. "Mum, Dad, Lolly's got a letter. Who'd be writing to you?" he asked curiously.

Dudley hadn't yet registered his father's face turning pale, as he shakily left his armchair and exited the room.

"I don't know," Laurel said, shaking her head. Turning the yellowish envelope over she saw a crest of sorts and a red wax seal. It looked as though it were from another century. "Dudley, can you read that?" she asked, squinting at the crest.

After a short spell of scrutiny, Dudley announced, "Hogwarts? Hogwarts? So pigs have acne now?"

Vernon had re-entered the living room, his wife in tow. Both were pale and Petunia looked quite sick. As Laurel examined her aunt's face it was evident that Petunia knew what this was about.

"This was what I had to tell you," she sighed, mournful eyes looking straight into the green orbs belonging to her niece. "Sit."

Rather shakily, Petunia took a seat on the couch, as Laurel followed suit. Vernon had returned to his armchair, more than glad to sit down before he fell down and a rather confused Dudley plonked himself on the arm of his father's chair, despite what he'd always been told about 'lounging around in such a manner.'

"We haven't been completely honest with you, Laurel," the woman said, an undeniable expression of guilt plastered all over her face. "It wasn't a car crash that killed your parents." She stopped, hanging her head in shame and grief. "There's no easy way to tell you."

Tears had met Laurel's eyes for the second time that day. They'd lied to her all those years but surely had to have a good reason for it so kept quiet.

"Lolly," Vernon said, looking at his niece. The man looked as though he wanted to throw up thinking about their dishonesty. "Lolly, they were—" he trailed off. There was no easy way to say it.

"— murdered," Petunia managed to finish, voice trembling.

To say Laurel hadn't had much of a reaction was an understatement. To tell the truth, she was more shocked than anything; not so much for the lie she'd been told (which, when she thought about it, it was probably kinder than the truth that had just been announced) but for the fact that someone had set out to kill them.

Questioning why might not be the best of ideas, for how could she expect two perfectly normal people to understand the motive of someone who had far different values to themselves? How could they see the reasoning behind a seemingly-senseless homicide?

"Oh," was all the girl could manage before an incredibly-awkward silence befell the room.

"I'm sorry, Laurel. I'm so sorry," came the abrupt voice of Aunt Petunia, as the woman grabbed hold of her niece, clinging so tightly as though afraid she might lose her, sobbing onto the child's shoulder.

"I'm sure you had your reasons," came the mature response from the teary child, as she welcomed the affection.

Dudley was aghast at the revelation. He may not have known his own and aunt and uncle but were they such terrible people that they deserved to die at the hands of another?

The large man sitting in the armchair, face pale, spoke. "I don't know what you were doing with that snake today, Lolly, but that was something your kind can do."

"M-my kind?" she repeated, cautiously, from her aunt's arms.

"Yes," came his simple response, as his son turned to look at him. "Laurel, you are a witch."

"Well, that's not very nice, Dad," Dudley said, rather offended that a man could call a family member such a name.

"It isn't necessarily a bad thing, darling; don't get me wrong," he said, his soft blue eyes looking directly into the emeralds belonging to the girl before him. "Your mother was a witch too, and your father was a wizard. They could do magic." Sighing heavily, he continued. "I regret to say we weren't quite so kind to them while they were alive, but I'd hope raising you would be a satisfactory apology to them." His eyes then fell on his distraught wife, who slowly pulled away from her niece.

"It's my fault," she said, tears streaming from her eyes, as she ran her finger through the girl's raven curls. "But you're my second chance, Laurel Anne. I hope I never fail you."

It was a lot for the girl to take in, but it was hardly difficult for her to understand.

"Magic exists," she whispered, almost inaudibly. Despite what she'd said earlier in the day, the truth was unfolding in front of her.

"What was that, darling?" Petunia sniffled, caressing Laurel's cheek with her hand.

The girl shook her head in response. "Did my Mum go to this school?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

Somewhat taken aback by the girl's question, considering the melancholy tone of the living room atmosphere, Petunia snapped herself back into the present; away from her feelings of guilt and despair.

"She did," she managed to smile. "She'd come home every summer and Christmas. She'd do little tricks — turning teacups into rats; that kind of thing. The full capacity of magical ability is beyond my knowledge, but I know it's capable of—" she trailed off. It was best not to divulge magic's capabilities; at least not yet, as she found herself looking away from the young witch in front of her.

At no liberty to say anything, for fear of upsetting her aunt further, Laurel focused her attention on the figure of the man in the armchair. Vernon didn't have much to say, before following Petunia, who had fled the lounge bawling her eyes out, leaving only the two children in the room.

"Well, I never," Dudley said, almost disbelievingly. Like his cousin, he, too, had always believed magic to be fictional. "A witch."


End file.
